


Hostage Negotiation

by 1treehill



Category: Mindhunter (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-18 06:46:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18244538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1treehill/pseuds/1treehill
Summary: What if Bill Tench met Holden Ford two years earlier, under completely different circumstances?





	Hostage Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

> This is a super goofy story, with no redeeming seriousness or even good writing. I just wanted to see a new story for this fandom on this site! And happy birthday, Jonathan Groff!

Bill Tench, veteran FBI agent, found himself leading a manhunt. He and the agents acting under his command were searching for a killer. Roy Moseley was a 40-year-old native of Virginia who, upon being fired from his job at a medical supply warehouse, went on a killing spree. Three men were dead— the foreman of the warehouse and two unlucky young men caught in the crossfire when Moseley began to rob liquor stores while seemingly arbitrarily crossing state lines. 

Moseley’s violence was triggered by the death of his wife, whose chronic emphysema treatment was refused medical coverage by the company’s insurance. The man blamed his employers and killed the foreman during an argument. He had never displayed any violent tendencies prior to this incident.

After two weeks, the FBI tracked Moseley back to the very place where the killings started, the medical supply warehouse in Arlington, Virginia, where he was now holding five employees hostage.

That was where Bill found himself encamped on a breezy but sunny Wednesday afternoon. He exited his car and walked over to a local law office the FBI had overtaken as temporary headquarters. The office was directly across the road from the entrance of the warehouse, which allowed Bill to keep a close eye on all the proceedings. 

So far Moseley had let loose a warning gunshot to prove he had a weapon and that he was willing to use it. But as of yet he had not made any demands. Bill theorized, judging from Moseley’s past behavior, that the gunman was operating from a position of desperation and confusion. There was no suggestion of planning and intelligence behind any of Moseley’s activities. Rob a store here, a gas station there, cross a state line for no apparent reason, cross back again. And now this strange return to the root of his criminal career.

Bill was beginning to tire of the waiting, but didn’t want to push Moseley into harming the five hostages. He and his partner, Gus Samson, had attempted to communicate with Moseley using a bullhorn, but had received no response.

Bill turned to Gus, seven years Bill’s senior, at 49, and asked, “Hey, anything happen while I was gone?”

Gus looked up from the desk he sat at and answered, “Not a thing, Bill. I nearly fell asleep while you were taking your lunch break. If the situation wasn’t so serious, I’d say I was getting bored.”

Bill chuckled, knowing how easily his partner of five years lost interest when there was a lack of action. “We better call in to headquarters for a negotiator, Gus. I’m not sure what else we can do here without potentially upsetting Moseley.”

“All right. I’ll do it. If we’re lucky we’ll get Sal to come out here and take care of this asshole,” Gus muttered as he walked over to a phone at another desk.

Bill stepped outside again while Gus was making his call. He looked at the warehouse, which appeared at the moment completely uninhabited. The scene was almost peaceful. What could Moseley possibly want? And why return to his former place of employment, unless he felt that he had left the job unfinished when he walked into his foreman’s office and shot the man in the head. Bill felt a shiver go through his body. This lack of dialogue was freaking him out. If Moseley asked for something, at least they could try to get it for him. And while doing so, maybe figure out what Moseley really wanted.

Gus joined Bill outside the doorway, saying, “Well, Sal is busy, but they’re sending some other guy. Someone new. Should be here in about 30 minutes.”

“Okay. I’m gonna try to connect with Moseley again. He’s probably starting to get hungry and thirsty by now,” Bill commented.

Bill retrieved the bullhorn from the office and walked out a bit closer to the warehouse. A phalanx of police officers and agents followed him, keeping low.

“Mr. Moseley, it’s Bill Tench again. How is everybody in there? How are you?” He waited in the silence, hoping for an answer, but got none.

“I’m sure you’re all hungry by now. How about we send in a pizza or two? Maybe some lemonade or coffee?” Again Bill waited patiently. And once again, he got no response.

Bill sighed and walked back toward the law office. “What is he waiting for?” Bill asked, mostly to himself, but Gus grunted in response, signifying his confusion.

It was Gus’s turn to take a break, and he decided to stay close by and get a hamburger at a pub down the street.

After a short while, Bill saw what could only be called an obvious FBI sedan pull up and park a few buildings down the street from the office. Bill rose from his chair and walked outside to meet the negotiator.

Bill stopped when he saw a very young man exit from the passenger side and carefully lock the door and straighten out his tie and FBI jacket. He couldn’t be more than 24 or 25. His hair was extremely neat. His face was pale, smooth, handsome and calm. He looked like he should be selling Bibles door to door. Bill thought, “This can’t be the guy.”

The young man saw Bill standing in front of the office and smiled at him. Bill’s stomach dropped.

“Hello. My name is Holden Ford. I’m the hostage negotiator you called for. How do you do?” Holden’s smile was solid, but his bright blue eyes were slightly shifty. Bill was stunned silent.

“Are you Agent Gus Samson?” Holden asked as his smile faltered.

The young man’s obvious discomfort snapped Bill out of his shock. “I’m sorry. No, I’m Bill Tench, Gus’s partner. FBI.”

Bill continued to stare at Holden, wondering how this boy was going to negotiate their way out of this situation.

“I… looked over Moseley’s file on the way over. But if you can fill me in on anything that’s happened since the standoff started and maybe give any personal notes you might have, I’d appreciate it,” Holden said, smiling a little again.

Bill said slowly, “You’re an FBI negotiator?”

Holden didn’t seem insulted. In fact, he continued in an animated fashion, “Yes, I’ve been mentored by Sal Morino and have assisted him on about five hostage crises. This will be my first solo work, but I’m very excited to start.”

Bill now looked at Holden as if he had two heads. He turned around without another word, walked back into the office and picked up the phone.

Bill dialed Sal’s office and, trying his best to hold back his anger, asked, “Is this some kind of joke, Sal? You’re not really busy, are you? You send me some teenage Boy Scout? I don’t think you understand how serious this situation is. We have five souls in there being held hostage! Moseley has already killed three people!”

Bill could hear Sal sighing through his diatribe, but couldn’t stop himself, even with Holden standing within hearing distance.

“Bill, Bill. Calm down,” Sal said quietly. “Holden is green, but he’s ready. I know he looks young, but he has a lot of experience. I trust him.”

“Look, I know everybody has to have a first time solo, but this is not the time or place to test this kid out,” Bill fumed.

“Listen, give him a chance. Let him try to talk to Moseley. If he screws up, call me back, and I’ll drive out there myself,” Sal said.

Bill took a deep, slow breath and blew out a gust of air. “Okay, I’ll let him try. In most likelihood, Moseley won’t answer him either. You’ll be hearing back from me soon.” And Bill slammed the receiver down on the phone cradle.

Now that he loosed some of his anger, Bill felt sheepish about Holden witnessing his rant. It wasn’t the kid’s fault that he was young and inexperienced, after all.

“Holden, I’m sorry you had to hear that. I’m not being fair. It’s just you…” Bill started.

Holden interrupted, “Look young. I’m 27. I’m not that young.”

Bill met Holden’s eyes for the first time and said, “I am sorry. Moseley is very dangerous, and I’m concerned for your safety as well as the hostages’ safety. But I’m judging you before the fact. Let’s get you a bullhorn and see how you do, okay?”

Bill watched as Holden actually blushed and looked down at his feet. The actions did nothing to make Holden appear older or more confident. Bill rolled his eyes. He turned toward the office, and Holden dutifully followed him.

“Agent Tench, I promise that I have studied and practiced the stairway model of negotiating that the FBI teaches. I feel very confident that I can do a good job,” Holden speed-talked at Bill.

Bill turned toward Holden and said, “Listen, kid, Sal gave you his thumbs up, so that’s gonna have to be enough for me. But you make one mistake, put those innocent five people in jeopardy, I will yank you out of there so fast, it’ll make your neck snap. You got it?”

Holden had the nerve to actually look hurt by Bill’s words. “I agree. If I do anything that you feel warrants concern, let me know, and I’ll leave. You can call another negotiator.”

Bill sighed and added, “I don’t know anything about this stairway model you mentioned. I’m assuming it’s worked in the past, but just go out there and get those three women and two men out of danger, and I’ll believe in it… and you.”

With that, Bill handed the bullhorn to Holden and waved him outside.

Bill watched as Holden took a deep breath and turned on the bullhorn with a squawk. He lifted it up to his mouth and cleared his throat, which caused painful feedback to issue from the bullhorn. Bill covered his eyes with his right hand and sighed.

“Hello, Mr. Moseley. My name is Holden Ford. I’m an FBI agent, and I would like to talk to you about getting you what you want so you can get out of there and back home,” Holden said in a soothing tone of voice. Even Bill had to admit that Holden’s speaking voice had a naturally calming effect.

Still, not a word from Moseley. Holden put the bullhorn down and looked down the street, clearly deep in thought.

Bill could hardly believe it as he watched Holden lay the bullhorn on the ground and walk straight up to the front door of the warehouse.

Holden stopped a few feet from the door and began speaking in a loud, but still soothing voice. “Mr. Moseley. May I call you Roy? Please call me Holden. How are you feeling? You’ve been in there for a couple of hours now. If you need anything, anything at all, to make you more comfortable, please just call out to me, and I’ll get it for you.”

Bill sighed as Moseley remained silent. But then…

“Holden, we’re really getting hungry in here,” Moseley said, barely audible behind the door.

Holden nearly jumped out of his shoes when he heard Moseley’s voice. “Mr. Moseley, I can imagine so,” he answered. “What would you like to eat? Anything you want. Pizza, burgers, salad. Anything.”

After a short pause, Moseley said, “Pizza is okay.”

“Okay,” Holden responded. “Pizza it is. Pepperoni and mushrooms okay?”

“No mushrooms. Pepperoni and tomatoes, please,” Moseley muttered.

“Sounds good,” Holden said gently. “How about something to drink? Coke?”

Moseley answered, “Diet sounds good.” Bill blinked and wondered if he’d wandered into a drive-through.

“All right, Mr. Moseley. Pepperoni and tomato pizza and Diet Coke, coming right up. We’ll send in enough for everybody in there, if that’s okay with you,” Holden said, brightening up.

“That’s good,” Moseley said.

Gus fumbled with the phone and a Yellow Pages behind Bill, looking for a pizza delivery place nearby.

Holden continued, “Mr. Moseley, is there anything else you want? All you have to do is ask. Just tell me what will get you home as soon as possible.”

Moseley started slowly, “I want… $10,000, a fully gassed up car, and safe passage out of here. Can you give me that, Holden?”

“I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Moseley. But for now, the pizza and Diet Coke are on their way to you. Okay?” Holden said.

“Thank you, Holden. You can call me Roy,” Moseley muttered.

“Thank you, Roy,” Holden responded, “Are the other people inside okay? Is anybody hurt or not feeling well?”

Holden was close enough to the door that he could hear Moseley sigh and then reply, “They’re nervous and scared, but okay. The men are acting all tough and strong, but some of the women are crying.”

“I understand that you’re under some pressure here, but I’m wondering if you would consider releasing some or all of the people in there,” Holden started.

Moseley interrupted with, “Do you think I’m stupid? The only reason I’m still alive is because I have hostages. Why would I let them go?”

“I understand that completely, Roy. But what if I take the place of, say, the women?” Holden suggested.

“You would do that?” Roy asked with awe in his voice.

“Yes, of course. I’m ready to make the exchange right now,” Holden said.

Bill watched the proceedings with no small amount of wonder. This kid had gotten farther in five minutes than he and Gus had in the past two hours.

Moseley was quiet for a few minutes, then called out for Holden. “Okay, I’ll exchange the women for you. But three for one isn’t quite fair. I’ll need another person, maybe one of those two FBI agents who were trying to talk to me earlier. That’s still not even, but it’s closer.”

Gus tensed next to Bill, and Bill knew that he would have to be the one to go. Gus was a good agent, but not the best in a high-stress situation. Also, he was somewhat less than eloquent. Bill considered calling Nancy before he made the exchange, but then realized there wasn’t enough time. He silently cursed Holden, though deep down he knew it wasn’t the kid’s fault.

Bill walked out of the office into the hazy sunlight. He joined Holden in front of the warehouse door. He could sense all the officers spread out behind him with their guns pointed in his direction.

“Mr. Moseley, this is Special Agent Bill Tench. I spoke to you earlier. I’m coming in with Agent Ford. Is that okay?” Bill asked.

“Fine, fine. But you two come in first, before I let the women go. And no guns, please,” Moseley insisted.

Bill looked at Holden, who nodded his affirmation. “Okay, Roy. Can you open the door for us?” Holden inquired.

The two men watched as the door slowly swung halfway open. They couldn’t see anyone on the other side of the door. Bill took his sidearm out of its holster and placed it gently on the asphalt.

“I hope to God you know what you’re doing,” Bill murmured to Holden.

“Me too,” Holden said with a half smile.

Together they walked into the warehouse. Bill got his first actual look at Moseley and thought that he looked almost absurdly identical to his mug shot— white, middle-aged, sallow skinned, exhausted-looking, with a widow’s peak just starting to gray.

Holden said, “Hi, Roy. Thank you for doing this. Can you let the women go now?”

Roy rubbed his face with his right hand and sighed. “Yes, yes. Come on.” The three women, all middle-aged, two openly weeping, were standing right next to Moseley.

“Get out of here,” Moseley directed at the women. “I don’t need you anymore.”

Bill helped the women out the door, never taking his eyes off Moseley. One woman, the one without tears in her eyes, said, “Thank you” to Bill as she left the warehouse.

Holden sighed deeply as the women left safely. “Roy, you’ve done a very good thing,” he said, and Bill was struck by the genuine warmth in the kid’s voice. Moseley must have heard the same thing because he actually smiled.

“I didn’t expect you to be so young. I mean, you sounded young, but…” Moseley trailed off.

“Mr. Moseley, I’m Bill Tench. Good to meet you,” Bill said.

“I doubt it,” Moseley responded. “Call me Roy too. Moseley is my father. I don’t feel like I can answer to that.”

Bill tried to soften his voice, as Holden had. “Thanks, Roy. Call me Bill.”

“Come in, guys. Sit down,” Moseley requested.

Bill started to sit on the floor next to the two remaining hostages, but Holden remained standing.

“Roy, let’s try to figure out a way to get you out of here. I know you must be tired,” Holden said.

“I already told you what I want. Just give it to me,” Moseley told him plainly.

“We’re working on it, Roy,” Bill said. “It’s just a matter of time.”

Moseley side-eyed Bill and then turned to Holden. “I’m counting on it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. They send some kid in to save my life? I’m screwed,” one of the hostages suddenly blurted out. “My tax dollars hard at work.” The speaker was a 30-year-old named Morgan Hill, Bill noted, as he matched the man’s face to his employee photograph.

Holden shot a glare toward Hill and seemed to make some kind of calculation in his head about him.

“Mr. Hill, right? Bill and I are working hard to get you out of here. Please be patient,” Holden said to Hill. “In the meantime, how are you? And you, Mr. Yamata?”

The older hostage, a 52-year-old Japanese-American man, responded, “I’m Joe. I’m doing okay, but a little nervous. I appreciate what you two are doing.”

Bill looked over the two men and worried about Hill, who seemed to be hotheaded and prone to speaking before thinking. Yamata didn’t appear cowed either, but at least he wasn’t shooting off at the mouth.

A knock at the door made all the men jump. Holden recovered first and said, “That must be the pizza.” He trotted over to the door, opened it, and came back with two flat boxes smelling of cheese and tomato sauce. Holden walked over to the men with a strangely happy look on his face. Bill was puzzled.

“Man, I am so hungry,” Holden said with glee, and once again Bill rolled his eyes, though this time with amusement.

The five men sat on the ground and silently ate their pizza and drank the Diet Coke Holden had gone back to the door to retrieve. Moseley’s gun never left his right hand. Bill looked over at his young partner and hoped he was formulating some kind of plan, but he seemed to be totally involved in eating. Bill felt an edge of jealousy pass through him, recalling the days when he could eat as much as he wanted without worrying about weight gain.

After the meal, Bill could no longer hold off on his craving for a cigarette. He offered one to the other men, including Moseley, and they all accepted save for Holden, who told him, “I don’t smoke during negotiations.”

Gus’s voice sounded out from the bullhorn, “Bill? We’re working on the car and the money, but it’s slow going. Especially the money. Can you ask Moseley to be patient?”

Bill saw Holden look gingerly at Moseley’s face at this news. Moseley put his head into his hands and began breathing deeply. The two agents and Moseley rose to a standing position.

“You’re fucking with me, aren’t you? This is never going to happen. There’s no way out for me,” he muttered almost to himself.

Holden immediately turned to the man and said calmly, “I promise you, Roy, we are not playing any games here. $10,000 is a lot of money, even for the FBI. Or especially for the FBI. I can tell you my salary attests to that fact.” Holden smiled at Moseley.

“I should never have come back here. I just didn’t know what else to do. I felt guilty about those two men I killed in those robberies. They were innocent bystanders really. The only people who deserve to die are in this warehouse. And I wasn’t even able to take the guilty ones hostage. They ran off like goddamn chickens, and I was left with Joe and Morgan, who aren’t bad guys,” Moseley rattled off as if he hadn’t heard a word Holden said.

“Roy, I believe you don’t mean to hurt anybody in this room. The men outside are doing all they can to meet your requests, but I have to admit it will be a bit difficult to assure safe passage out of town,” Holden said, to Bill’s chagrin. Did the kid just admit that Roy’s plan wouldn’t work?

Holden continued, “Maybe the three of us, you, me and Bill, can problem solve this situation. I don’t think you want to be on the run for the rest of your life. And I also don’t think you want to hurt any more people. We can figure this out, find the best outcome. What do you say, Roy?”

Hill interrupted angrily, standing up and nearly getting in Holden’s face. “What the fuck are you doing? This guy is crazy. You’re playing right into his hands. Just take him down and end this thing.”

Bill wasn’t exactly sure what Holden was doing either, but he’d had enough of Hill and recognized what a danger he was to all of them. “Mr. Hill, can you please stay out of this? You’re not helping matters.”

Holden stopped Bill with, “No, I understand Mr. Hill’s frustration. I’m trying to ensure that no one gets hurt here, including you, and including Roy. We’re all in our own ways victims of circumstance. What we need to do is calm down and change the circumstances so everyone can win.”

Hill scoffed loudly and said, “Whatever you say, man. You’re as crazy as Moseley here.”

Moseley responded, “I am not crazy! Holden’s right. I’m a victim of circumstances. This company killed my wife. They did it without any sense of guilt. I didn’t mean to kill Mr. Granton. But he wouldn’t listen to me, and he kept insulting me, and then insulting my wife, and that was the last straw.”

Moseley began weeping and talking through his tears. “Then I didn’t care about anything anymore because Loretta was dead. What was the point? But I didn’t plan any of this. You have to help me out of this, please,” he begged Holden.

Bill watched in disbelief as Hill took Moseley’s breakdown as a chance to jump the man. Hill lunged past Holden and attempted to grab Moseley’s gun hand. Bill couldn’t see exactly where the gun was in the midst of the three men. Holden entered the fray, trying to push Hill back behind him to protect him. A gunshot rang out and all the men froze in place.

Holden took a step back, and Bill could see that Moseley still had the gun, but smoke was snaking slowly out of the barrel. Then Holden collapsed to the floor.

Bill rushed past Hill to tend to the fallen agent, but Moseley waved his gun at him and said, “Stop! Everybody, stop! Don’t move. I swear I’ll shoot everybody in here!”

Bill listened, half convinced that Gus and the officers would storm the warehouse upon hearing the gunshot. Instead he heard Gus’s voice back on the bullhorn. “Bill, Agent Ford, what’s going on? We heard a gunshot. Is everybody all right?”

“Roy, let me see to Holden, please,” Bill asked as calmly as possible. “And let me answer my partner outside. If I don’t, he will send in a battalion of police officers, and we’ll all be dead.”

Moseley grabbed his head and answered, “Go ahead and talk to the man outside. Tell him I’m gonna kill all of you if they make a move.”

Bill walked around Holden’s unmoving body. He looked down, praying that the boy was still alive. There was a viscous pool of red forming under his right shoulder, but he thought he could see Holden breathing. He sighed in relief.

Bill opened the door slightly and spoke loudly, “Gus, it’s okay. Keep everyone calm out there. But Holden’s been shot. I’m not sure about his condition. Call an ambulance. I’ll try to see if we can get him out of here.”

“You sure, Bill?” Gus asked. “We got some guys out here with nervous trigger fingers.”

“Yeah, Gus, I need you to pull them all back. Moseley still has the gun. We need to cool things down, okay?” Bill shouted.

“All right, Bill. I’ll trust you. I’ll call Sal too, let him know about Holden. Keep me informed about what you need in there. Try to get the kid out here to an ambulance,” Gus replied.

Bill returned quickly to where Holden lay, still unconscious. “Roy, please, let me take a look at Holden.”

Moseley seemed to finally noice the young man lying on the floor bleeding. “Go ahead. I didn’t mean to shoot him. It was that guy’s fault,” he said as he pointed to Hill.

“Hey, I was the only one trying to get us out of this crazy situation,” Hill said defensively.

Bill bent down and felt for Holden’s pulse at his neck. He found it right away and it seemed fairly strong, to his immense relief. Then he took a careful look under the jacket on the boy’s right shoulder. Blood had already drenched the material of the jacket and the dress shirt underneath. With the lack of anything better to use, Bill removed his suit jacket and folded it twice and placed it over the wound, pressing down to try to stem the intense bleeding.

Holden groaned in pain and began to regain consciousness. Bill reached out and held his hand to comfort him.

“What happened?” Holden slurred. He was trying to open his eyes and focus, but was clearly having trouble. Bill could see that the pain was intense by the way Holden was breathing raggedly and struggling to remain conscious.

“Hey, take it easy, kid. Stay still. You’ve been shot,” Bill said gently.

“No shit, Bill. What’s happened with Moseley?” Holden groaned.

“He’s still in charge, meaning he still has the gun. Nobody else was hurt,” Bill said.

“How bad is it?” Holden asked.

“About as bad as it feels, I’d guess. You’re bleeding a lot. I need to convince Moseley to let you go so you can go to a hospital,” Bill told him.

“No!” Holden practically shouted. He settled a bit and added, “No, I need to convince him to give himself up. My job’s not done yet.”

“Holden, your work for today is through. Don’t move,” Bill insisted.

Despite Bill’s words, Holden attempted to rise, but was stopped by intense pain and weakness. Holden groaned and almost passed out again.

“Kid, what did I just say?” Bill shouted. “Stay put!”

Moseley came out of his state of shock and asked, “Bill, how is he? Is he gonna be okay? I didn’t mean to shoot him, I swear.”

Bill answered, “He’s in bad shape, Roy. We have to get him to a hospital quickly. You have to let him go.”

Moseley looked at the gun in his hand and said quietly, “I can’t do that. Maybe they’ll be faster about getting me that car now.”

Holden took a deep breath and turned to Bill. “Can you help me sit up? I promise I’ll stay still, but I can’t talk while I’m on the floor like this.”

Bill replied, “Okay, but it’s going to hurt.” He knelt beside Holden and gently helped him sit up against the wall. Holden muffled his groans as best he could and closed his eyes and panted until he could speak again.

“Roy. You have to listen to me. We’re running out of time. The officers outside, they’re losing patience. We have to figure this out together,” Holden said in a weak voice.

“I know,” Roy said, “I was never going to get the money or the car, was I? Besides which, where would I go once I had the car? What was I thinking?”

Bill watched Roy’s dispirited face with concern. The last thing he wanted was for the situation to become more desperate. But his main worry was Holden. He had to get him some medical attention.

“Roy, if we can’t get Holden to a hospital, how about letting a doctor or paramedic in here, let them take a look at his wound?” Bill suggested.

“No. No more people. I’m getting… confused,” Roy said, barely audible.

Holden gave Bill a meaningful look. “Roy, everything’s going to be okay. The three of us can still figure this out. We can get you home.”

“There is no more home,” Roy admitted. “I let myself think there was a way out, but there isn’t.”

Holden took a shaky breath and continued, “I know you don’t think I understand how you feel, but I do. Sometimes I feel hopeless. I live alone. Work is everything to me. I don’t have a girlfriend. I have just a few friends. Sometimes I think nobody understands me. It’s a hard life.”

Bill stared at Holden with a mixture of surprise and pity. Was this a part of the “stairway model” the young man had mentioned before, this oversharing? He noticed Holden’s breath coming in shallower, and he was almost as pale as his dress shirt. Bill wasn’t sure how much longer the kid would be conscious.

Holden closed his eyes and continued, “You can’t give up hope, Roy. Things will get better. You just do your best and try to make the right choices in life.”

“What is my right choice, Holden?” Roy asked with tears in his eyes. “I’m at a dead end. My life means nothing and nobody would care if I was gone.”

“That’s not true,” Bill said. “Holden and I would care. We barely know you, but it would matter to us if something happened to you.” 

Joe Yamata stood up slowly and walked toward Holden. He quietly took over applying pressure to Holden’s shoulder so Bill could stand up and speak to Moseley.

“I know you don’t want anybody else to die, and if we don’t get Holden some help soon, I’m afraid of what will happen to him,” Bill said gently to Moseley. “He’s just a young man with his whole life ahead of him.”

“Bill, Bill,” Holden interrupted urgently. “Roy, don’t worry about me. I’m going to be fine. How can we all get out of here safely, Roy? It’s up to you. What if we leave together? That way you’ll be safe and I’ll get some medical help.”

Moseley raised his gun, which made Bill tense up, ready to spring into action if necessary. The man looked sadly at Holden and said, “That won’t work. There’s only one way out of here.”

With that, Moseley pointed the gun to the side of his head and shot himself.

“No!” Holden shouted, as Bill ran to Moseley’s falling body. One look at Moseley lying on the floor made it clear to Bill there was no hope. He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling completely exhausted and sad. Bill looked over to the door as he heard Gus shouting for him.

O

“Moseley’s dead. Bring a paramedic in here ASAP for Holden,” Bill shouted to Gus. Then Bill made his way over to Holden, who hadn’t said a word since the gunshot. The boy was covered in sweat, but was visibly shivering. He was staring at where Moseley had been standing.

“Hey, hey, kid. You’re gonna be fine. A paramedic’s coming in right now. We’re taking you to the hospital. Just stay with me, okay?” Bill said urgently.

Holden was still staring, silent with shock. Two male paramedics rushed in and gently pushed Bill aside so they could work on Holden. They placed him on a gurney and covered his face with an oxygen mask. Bill heard medical terms and phrases that made no sense to him, but felt relieved that something was being done for the young agent. He couldn’t stop checking that Holden’s eyes were open, afraid that once they closed, they would stay closed for good.

Gus was suddenly next to him. “Bill, are you all right? Are the hostages hurt in any way?”

“No. I mean, yes, I’m fine. No, we’re not hurt. You should have Hill and Yamata checked out anyway,” Bill answered.

Gus smiled and said, “You don’t look so good yourself. You want to sit down, have some coffee or something?”

Bill thought for a second and then said, “No. Actually, would it be okay if you drive me to the hospital? I want to make sure Holden comes through this all right.”

“Sure thing, Bill,” Gus agreed.

At the hospital emergency room, Bill met up with Sal Morino, Holden’s mentor. They’d known each other superficially over the years, so they were comfortable sitting in the waiting room together.

“Have Holden’s parents been notified?” Bill asked Sal. He was somewhat disturbed that they were the only people waiting for word on Holden’s condition.

“I called them, but they just wanted me to call them back once I knew how Holden was doing,” Sal said, shaking his head. “Weird people, if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” Bill agreed, thinking about all the sad things Holden had told Moseley about his life.

When the ER doctor finally asked for Holden’s family, it was the odd couple of Sal and Bill who met him. “Mr. Ford made it through surgery, but he’s in serious condition. He lost a lot of blood and is suffering the consequences of that. And there’s a chance of infection due to the delay in treatment,” the doctor told the two men. “He’s unconscious and in the ICU now. We usually only let family visit, but if you would like, you can sit with him for about ten minutes each hour.”

Sal agreed to this readily, but Bill was uncertain. He’d just met Holden that day. But the lack of family members and friends convinced him to at least stay for a little while.

Sitting next to the unconscious Holden, who was hooked up to all manner of medical equipment, was uncomfortable for Bill. The kid looked terrible— pale, unmoving, dark circles under his eyes. And why weren’t his parents here? Or a sibling, or even a good friend? Holden had struck him as odd, but not a social outcast.

The next few days found Bill going back to work, as usual. But he kept calling Sal to ask about Holden. By the third day after the shooting, Holden became racked with fever. Infection had taken hold, and his survival was no longer so certain. Bill returned to the hospital to talk to the doctor and visit Holden again.

Bill was told that if the fever broke, Holden would most likely recover completely. But he thought the kid looked much worse. Waxen, sunken in. He felt terribly worried. Sal noticed and said, “Holden really got to you, huh? He leaves most people kind of cold, but I think he’s a really good kid. Works hard, means well, you know. I’m glad to see he’s made one friend.”

“You mean me?” Bill asked. “I don’t consider myself his friend. He did all he could during the hostage crisis and I appreciated it. Plus, I can’t believe he doesn’t have anybody other than us waiting for him to wake up. Seems really sad.”

“Well, don’t let pity keep you here. I’ll look after him. Always have. Always will. I know you’ve got lots of work to do,” Sal said.

Bill was taken aback. “I don’t exactly pity him. I sincerely am worried and want to see this through. And I want to give you a break once in a while. You’re not a young man, you know. You need your rest.”

Sal laughed and said, “Fuck you too. I’ll go get something to eat right now, since you’re here.”

Holden became restless in his fever state while Bill sat with him. He pressed the call button for a nurse, who eventually put something into Holden’s IV which calmed him down. But then after another few minutes, he noticed that Holden’s eyes were open and the kid was looking right at him.

“Holden? Can you hear me?” Bill asked, then sheepishly grimaced, realizing that Holden couldn’t say anything with the oxygen mask on. He called for the nurse again, who went for the doctor. The doctor removed the mask and replaced it with a nasal cannula, looked over Holden, and smiled.

“Mr. Ford’s fever has broken. Things are looking up. I’ll let you stay for a few minutes, but then you’ll have to leave so he can get some genuine rest,” the doctor told Bill.

“Well, his friend, Sal, he went downstairs to the cafeteria. He should be back soon. I’m sure Holden would rather see Sal than me,” Bill insisted.

The doctor’s smile faltered slightly, then he said, “Just five minutes right now. Uh, Sal can see Mr. Ford later.” Then he left the room.

Bill sat down slowly in the visitor’s chair and pulled it closer to Holden. The young man was blinking blearily and seemed about to fall sleep. But just seeing his features animated with life improved his look a great deal.

“Holden, you remember me? Bill Tench. I was with you in the hostage negotiation.”

Holden nodded slowly and said, “I’m surprised to see you here. But I’m glad to see you, Bill. I’m glad you’re all right.” His voice was thin and weak, and speech seemed to take a lot of energy.

“I’d offer you a cigarette if you weren’t on oxygen. After all, you’re not negotiating anymore,” Bill said with a smile.

“Oh, I don’t smoke when I’m not negotiating either,” Holden said seriously.

Bill blinked. “Sal is downstairs. He’ll be glad to see you’re awake. He’ll be right back,” he said in a rush, feeling ill-at-ease.

“I heard you tell the doctor. You don’t have to stay, Bill. I’m okay,” Holden said with a gentle smile.

Bill felt chastised even though Holden hadn’t said anything to cause that feeling. And he was suddenly glad he was present when Holden woke up.

“The doc says you’re gonna be okay. The fever broke. I’m relieved. You had us all worried for a while,” Bill said brightly.

Holden refrained from asking who “us” was, but he smiled knowingly.

“Thanks, Bill. Are the hostages all right?” Holden asked.

“Yeah, they’re fine, even that asshole Hill. He almost got you killed. You did a good job, Holden. All the agents on scene were impressed,” Bill said.

Holden looked down toward the IV site in his arm. “I wasn’t very impressive though. I didn’t exactly do a good job. I mean, there was a casualty.”

“You mean Moseley? There was no way around that, Holden. You did everything you could, but you couldn’t change reality. No way the bureau would have allowed him to drive away from there. You know that. And in the end, Moseley did as well.”

“I should have said the right things to make him feel there was hope for him. Instead, I led him into the darkness,” Holden said, starting to slur his words a bit. “I’ll never know if something I said made him kill himself.”

“You can only do your best, kid. You can’t take responsibility for the actions of others, especially someone as desperate as Moseley,” Bill told Holden.

They were silent for a while. Then Bill couldn’t help but ask, “When you were telling him about your own life, you know, was that part of the FBI’s hostage negotiation methodology?”

Holden looked surprised. “Sort of. We are taught to empathize as much as possible with the hostage taker, try to see things through his eyes. I suppose talking about your own life can be part of that.”

“Was it all true?” Bill asked tentatively.

“Yes. Um, no, not all of it. I was trying to manipulate him. At that point I would have said anything. It didn’t feel right, but I was becoming desperate. I could feel the situation spiraling out of our control,” Holden said.

Bill felt less than satisfied with that answer, but he saw Holden’s eyelids drooping and knew his five minutes were about over.

“I don’t know if there was anything you could have said to Moseley that would have saved his life, Holden. You got the hostages out of there alive, and that’s all that matters,” Bill said, trying to comfort the young man.

Holden looked up at Bill with watery, sleepy eyes and said, “I’d like to believe that, Bill.”

Soon Holden was asleep. Bill left the room, not sure if his own words were true or not.


End file.
